Folks wearing somber colored clothes
with somber faces,
To be elsewhere.
Unease curls around them like the mist rising from
Between the stones
Through which they navigate,
Cold, still, silent cairns, under which
Perhaps some other lonely, rejected outcasts now lie.
Those left howling
By others too busy
To hear the deep hurt endured with each passing friendless day.
Now they stand,
Dry eyed, dutiful,
They are here because
Even a pretentious display counts.
Appearing atop the nearby hill,
One lone Wolf,
He throws back his head and cries.
At once he stills,
Lowers his head,
With the grim lowering of what
Will not return.
Linda Imbler is the author of the published poetry collection “Big Questions, Little Sleep.” Her work has appeared in numerous journals. Linda’s creative process and a current, complete listing of sites which have or will publish her work can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. This writer, yoga practitioner, and classical guitar player lives in Wichita, Kansas.